<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>It's the Little Things by Llama1412</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866723">It's the Little Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412'>Llama1412</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Cuddling, Angst, Coffee, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Exhaustion, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Sleep Deprivation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:09:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fills for various prompts!<br/>Chapter 1: “You. Rest. Now.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yaevinn, Iorveth &amp; Scoia'tael (The Witcher), Iorveth &amp; Vernon Roche, Iorveth/Vernon Roche</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "You. Rest. Now."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been doing a lot of prompt fills lately and as fun as the themed ones are (I've done Found Family and Kisses), I figured I should maybe make a general prompt fill fic to publish to.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You. Rest. Now.”</p><p> </p><p>No one was expecting Vernon Roche’s voice to ring out over the battlefield as he pointed at Iorveth. Iorveth wasn’t the only one to gape at Roche either.</p><p> </p><p>“...What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously, why the fuck did your second let you out in this state? If you’re gonna fight, at least have the state of mind to recognize a left feint for the love of fuck!”</p><p> </p><p>Ciaran’s cough sounded suspiciously like ‘I tried’ and Iorveth sighed deeply. Just thinking about the argument they’d had before this operation made exhaustion drag at his bones.</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe that was the forty-eight hours he’d gone without sleep. </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t deprived himself of sleep intentionally, but he’d gotten wrapped up reading one of the few elven books they still had from before the Conjunction, and he’d just… forgotten. </p><p> </p><p>Ciaran had tried to convince him that that was more than enough reason to pass off his duties to his second, but really, what kind of commander would he be if he let a stupid thing like nostalgia remove him from duty?</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, Boss,” one of the Blue Stripes – the one with the really nice hair who was always talking about his kids – piped up.</p><p> </p><p>Iorveth glanced around and his sluggish brain took several seconds to recognize that not only did the Blue Stripes stop fighting as soon as Roche spoke, but his Scoia’tael had too. Why?</p><p> </p><p>Roche crossed his arms. “Beating you like this wouldn’t even feel satisfactory. Just – go sleep and come back when you’re ready to actually <em> fight.” </em> And with that, the Blue Stripes Commander turned on his heel and marched away from him, leaving himself entirely exposed to an attack from the rear. If only Iorveth could convince his arm to <em> move. </em></p><p> </p><p>The remaining Blue Stripes shot confused looks at their commander and at the elves they’d been facing off with, all of whom seemed more than continent not to fight.</p><p> </p><p>What the fuck was going on? Was this a mutiny?</p><p> </p><p>Iorveth blinked, and when his eyes next opened, Ciaran was standing in front of him, worry written across his face. Iorveth tried to ask what was wrong, but somehow his tongue wouldn’t listen to him, and then he looked up and how had they gotten back to base already?</p><p> </p><p>He seemed somehow separate from his body as Ciaran steered him towards the bedroom. Inside, around the nest of pillows and blankets that looked so appealing Iorveth though he might cry, his squad was already taking off their armor. That was a rule, in the bedroom. Cuddling with armor was <em> not </em> pleasant. That was probably the only reason he ever actually took his armor off, honestly.</p><p> </p><p>Turning to Ciaran, he tried to make an inquisitive noise, but somehow when he finished turning, he was already lying down, which meant he was breaking the no armor rule. He opened his mouth to say something, only for Ciaran to poke him pointedly in the side.</p><p> </p><p>“Sleep,” his second ordered.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have to follow your orders,” Iorveth said. Or thought he said. It ended up sounding a lot more like jumbled up vowels.</p><p> </p><p> “Shut up and close your eyes.”</p><p> </p><p>Iorveth did, but not because he was following orders. It was just suddenly difficult to make his eyes open again. </p><p> </p><p>His people cuddled up close next to him, and he supposed maybe going to sleep wasn’t the <em> worst </em> idea.</p><p> </p><p>Between one heartbeat and the next, he was dead to the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The commando with the luxurious hair and lots of children is Shorty!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. “You can’t hide those shaking hands from me. You need to stop.”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ves had started glaring at him sometime around his sixth cup of coffee, but Roche continued to pour the caffeinated elixir that could force his eyes to stay open as they worked through a backlog of paperwork.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When did you last sleep?” Ves asked suspiciously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche yawned, “not sure.” He gulped down his coffee and poured another cup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The paperwork can wait.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was due last week. It really, really can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ves frowned at him. “Let me put this another way. Go sleep. Now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed heavily. “I can’t, I need to finish the reports for the King.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Commander.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ves’s voice was firm enough that he had to look up at her, even if it meant no longer drinking the sweet, sweet wake up juice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop drinking coffee and go to sleep. I’ll take care of the paperwork.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But–” Roche raised his hand to take a sip before Ves snatched the mug from his grasp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bed!” she ordered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m supposed to give the orders,” he muttered, but struggled to his feet anyway. A ticked off Ves was not one to be trifled with and the world was starting to go grey in the corners of his vision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I check on you in an hour and you’re not sleeping, I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. Permanently.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. "we're both so exhausted we can't even argue about not being exhausted"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Sit down before you fall down,” Vernon Roche said in greeting. Considering Iorveth was running on about half an hour of sleep and had been busy running troops through drills all day, Roche wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>per say, but that didn’t mean he had a right to comment on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, Iorveth was pretty sure Roche had been run ragged all day the same way he had been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dropped into a chair with a grumble, trying not to follow the momentum down to let his head rest against the conference table. He didn’t even know why they </span>
  <em>
    <span>met</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a conference room – it was only ever the three of them: Iorveth, Roche, and Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, ruler of most of the continent. But Emhyr insisted on it, so here they were, sitting around a big empty table waiting for the Emperor to deign to show himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche liked to joke that Emhyr insisted upon the conference room because if they showed up in his throne room – previously Temeria’s King’s throne room – then everyone would know that the Empire consorted with the likes of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if either of them had wanted to work for Nilfgaard in the first place. But to say no to the Emperor required a lot more resources and safehouses than Iorveth had, so here he was, working for Nilfgaard. Working for the humans who had betrayed the Scoia’tael in the first place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The worst part?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nilfgaard’s rule was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the nonhumans that had suffered persecution under the Northern Kings. Nilfgaard </span>
  <em>
    <span>valued </span>
  </em>
  <span>its elven ancestry, even proudly based their language on Elder Speech! Life for elves and dwarves and halflings and every other nonhuman was objectively </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span> under Nilfgaard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That didn’t stop Iorveth from hating all of it. But then again, he’d been driven by hatred so long that he’d scarcely know what to do without it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s always fucking late,” Roche grumbled, tapping his fingers in a staccato rhythm on the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth opened his eye to realize that his forehead had, in fact, made contact with the table. With a groan, he forced himself back up, focusing a bleary gaze on his companion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vernon Roche. Once his mortal foe, now nothing more than another cog in Nilfgaard’s administrative system. How the might had fallen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that the same couldn’t be said of himself. After all, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>same as Roche. Nilfgaard had looked at both of them and deemed them </span>
  <em>
    <span>of use </span>
  </em>
  <span>and refused to take no for an answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth wondered sometimes where he might be now, if Nilfgaard hadn’t leashed him. Would he still be a soldier preparing for eternal war, or would he have settled down and gone back to music? He liked to think it was the latter, but either way, it was nothing more than a dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In reality, Iorveth’s skill in combat in command meant that he was suddenly incredibly valuable to the Nilfgaardian army. Which meant he got to spend all day teaching specialized combat to former farmhands who had been conscripted during the war and never quite released from their contracts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile </span>
  <em>
    <span>Roche</span>
  </em>
  <span> got to train the elite soldiers. The ones who had actual training and experience and didn’t ask stupid questions like which end of the sword to hit people with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just for good measure, Iorveth glared at Roche.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man just blinked at him. “What? Is there something on my face?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth groaned, thunking his head down on the table again. He just wanted this meeting done with so he could go </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He could already almost smell the light lavender on his sheets and feel the soft cushion of his pillow and the darkness behind his eyelids beckoned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vaguely, he thought he could hear Roche saying something, but he was sure it wasn’t important. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iorveth?” Roche asked hesitantly, not actually sure what to do about this situation. Specifically, the part of this situation where Iorveth had somehow stolen his arm as a pillow. He tried moving away, but Iorveth’s face scrunched up and slim fingers clamped down on his forearm, holding him in place and slowly cutting off blood flow. Wonderful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffed. Emhyr had been working them pretty hard, but he’d honestly have expected it to take a lot more than some mild sleep deprivation for Iorveth to willingly sleep in his presence. Should he be concerned that Iorveth didn’t consider him a threat anymore?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nah. They sparred together pretty regularly and they remained pretty evenly matched, though Roche could admit – only in his head, mind you – that Iorveth won </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> more often than he did. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> slightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tapped the fingers of his free hand against the table, wondering what to try next. He was starting to lose feeling in his fingertips from how tightly Iorveth was gripping him, and Emhyr would be arriving any minute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Honestly, he could use a nap himself, but he wasn’t going to risk closing his eyes around </span>
  <em>
    <span>Emhyr. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His survival instincts were better than that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which did nothing to help with the elf who had coopted his arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iorveth! Wake up!” Roche poked Iorveth in the side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth flinched away from the poke, but he didn’t wake up. Instead, he nuzzled into Roche’s arm like he was getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>comfortable</span>
  </em>
  <span> and really, what was Roche supposed to do with that? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conference room door burst open and Emhyr strode in as casually as if he wasn’t half an hour late to his own damned meeting. It was only once he reached the far end of the table and took his seat that the Emperor looked at them and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche cleared his throat awkwardly. Was he supposed to say something about Iorveth? Or just… start his report?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say about the elf who’d stolen his arm, so…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearing his throat, he began his report. “Training of Alba Division is going well. General Voorhis believes they will be ready by the end of the month.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cold brown eyes stared into his, giving zero hint of Emhyr’s opinion. “And you agree with the General?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do. It is possible they would benefit from additional training, but what they really need is practical application.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Continue.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was that a good or bad hmm? Roche couldn’t tell and dammit, this was why he hated Emhyr. At least when he’d served King Foltest, he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>known</span>
  </em>
  <span> what mood the king was in. Foltest was never one to put on airs or cover his feelings. If he was angry, he made sure you knew it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With Emhyr, Roche could never tell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t as if he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> Emhyr’s approval, but it would be nice to at least know where he stood. If he was pissing Emhyr off, he wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And not just so that he could replicate the behavior.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was also really weird giving his report without Iorveth interjecting with snide remarks. He kept expecting them, kept thinking about how he would respond, and then nothing happened. You’d think the loss of feeling in his fingers would remind him that Iorveth had stolen his arm, but somehow it still kept catching him by surprise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, he wrapped things up and waited for Emhyr’s dismissal. Typically, this would be when Iorveth gave </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> report, but since the elf was very much not present at the moment…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emhyr frowned, rising to his feet and striding out of the room without a word. Fucking rude.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But with the meeting done, that meant he could finally go get some </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Iorveth could sleep somewhere that wasn’t depriving his extremities of circulation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Iorveth,” Roche hissed, poking Iorveth again. And again. And again. Damn, this elf could sleep through a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Iorveth, seriously, don’t make me pry you off with my knife. Because I will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth, still unconscious, said nothing in response to his threat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffed loudly, tugging on his arm. Iorveth clung tightly, fingernails digging into his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, time to do things the mean way. Taking a deep breath, Roche reached out with his free hand, slowly moving as close to Iorveth as he could. Then, taking careful aim, he flicked Iorveth’s ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth made an odd high pitched strangled sound as he jerked away, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> waking up. The blood rushing back to his hand sent Roche’s arm tingling and prickling, and he flexed his fingers to try to work feeling back into them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck, dh’oine!?” Iorveth demanded. From the flush on his face, he was working up a definite tirade about the ill manners of humans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche sighed. “You fell asleep. On my arm. And then you wouldn’t let go or wake up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That caught Iorveth off guard and his expression morphed slowly from anger to confusion. “The meeting–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Done. Which means you can go faceplant in a bed now. Preferably without cutting off circulation to any more of my limbs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth rubbed his face, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Uh… sorry? I guess?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche snorted. “Thanks. I guess.” They stood in silence for a long moment, neither one of them moving. “Right,” he cleared his throat, “I’m gonna go sleep. Night, elf.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...night, dh’oine,” Iorveth murmured just before the door closed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smirking to himself, Roche yawned widely and staggered off towards his bed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Iorveth Accompanies Roche to the Kaedweni Camp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Inspired by <a href="https://bryd-one-brere.tumblr.com/post/641197732511547392">this gif set</a> which shows scenes from the Witcher 2 game, but instead of Geralt accompanying Roche, it's Iorveth. So, have a retelling of a canon scene where Iorveth and Roche approach the Kaedweni War Camp on the border of the Pontar Valley.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Iorveth strode beside Vernon Roche as they climbed the hill up to the Kaedweni war camp. Or well, he was trying to stick beside Roche, but his legs were longer than the dh’oine’s and he naturally pulled ahead.</p><p> </p><p>Vernon Roche at his back should really be more concerning than it was. They may have agreed to a temporary truce, but they were still enemies.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, if Roche wanted him dead, all he would have to do was stand back and do nothing. This truly was a terrible plan, but Iorveth needed to know where King Henselt had gone to treat with Saskia.</p><p> </p><p>The soldier on watch in the Kaedweni camp finally spotted them – <em> long </em>after an elven guard would have – and yelled to his compatriots on the ground below.</p><p> </p><p>Iorveth sighed, entirely unsurprised when the guard dropped his spear and fumbled his crossbow up until Iorveth was in its sights. He raised his hands casually, showing that he wasn’t currently intending to murder any dh’oine – although it might be tempting.</p><p> </p><p>Roche caught up to him, a few paces behind, and barked at the guard. “What’s with you, Zyvik? Booze made you batty? Don’t you recognize me?”</p><p> </p><p>Zyvik sputtered wildly. “Recognize you!? For fuck’s sake, Roche, what did you bring him here for!? Most wanted terrorist at the gate of a king’s camp! Why, he’s not even bound!”</p><p> </p><p>Damn right he wasn’t. Surprisingly, Roche hadn’t even suggested it. Perhaps the dh’oine recognized a losing battle when he saw one?</p><p> </p><p>...then again, he did keep coming back for more with Iorveth.</p><p> </p><p>“Easy, lads,” Roche held out his hands placatingly. “He’s not here to start trouble, I’ll vouch for that. We need to speak with King Henselt.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “We!?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Where is he?” Roche prompted, ignoring the flustered guard.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not here, Mr. Special Mission Knight,” Zyvik bit out. “Now what the fuck is <em> that,” </em> the gesture with his crossbow was clearly meant to indicate Iorveth, and Iorveth narrowed his eyes in a glare, “doing <em> here!?” </em></p><p> </p><p>Something in Iorveth’s chest started sounding an alarm, an ache deeper than his bones that he knew could only come from one place: the dragon who had claimed him as hoard was in trouble.</p><p> </p><p>But <em> where!? </em></p><p> </p><p>He clutched at his chest, vaguely hearing the guards shouting and hollering.</p><p> </p><p>“Fetch some rope to bind the elf!” Zyvik ordered, and one of the other guards slipped inside the camp.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, Zyvik, there’s no need for that,” Roche soothed. “Where’d you say the king was?”</p><p> </p><p>“Out in the fields somewhere – negotiating. Hey, elf! Drop your weapons – or do I need to pack a bolt up your arse?</p><p> </p><p>Iorveth ignored him, trying to focus on if the ache pointed him anywhere in particular. Surely if Saskia’s dragon magic could tell him she was in trouble, it could <em> also </em> tell him where the fuck she was.</p><p> </p><p>The world darkened around them, startling the dh’oine, but Iorveth had <em> finally </em> started to feel something telling him to go <em> that way, </em>so he ignored the eclipse slowly blocking out the sun and ran.</p><p> </p><p>“Iorveth!” Roche called, and when he glanced back, he was surprised to see that Roche had stepped into the guard’s line of sight, preventing him from catching a bolt in the back. He would have to think more on that later, though, because right now, a mist was spreading over the fields and he had to reach Saskia <em> now. </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 31. hugging while straddling the partner + 13. Group Hugs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Iorveth comes home exhausted and just wants to curl up with his family.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I think this is probably set in Don't Cry for Me, Temeria? But no prior knowledge is needed, it's just a cute fluffy piece.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>By the time Iorveth made it home to their house in Vergen, he was feeling ragged and rundown and wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. He walked inside, calling a tired, “‘m home,” to Vernon and the children.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In front of the fire, sitting in his armchair and reading to the two little terrors who were currently curled up together on the rug, Vernon was lit up by the flames. It made his smile as he turned to Iorveth all the more impactful, and Iorveth decided that actually, all he wanted was to curl up in Vernon’s arms and never move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head. Vernon wasn’t in the perfect position for it, one foot resting on his other knee with the book balanced in between. But Iorveth wasn’t one to let little things like inconvenience stop him. He made a beeline towards Vernon, squirmed his way into Vernon’s lap, and then wrapped his arms around the man, burying his face in the smell of </span>
  <em>
    <span>home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche startled when Iorveth raised a knee onto the arm of his chair. As he watched, Iorveth climbed up and contorted himself until the elf fit – more or less – in his lap. He laughed, reaching up to stroke Iorveth’s back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Comfortable?” he teased.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth squirmed, settling in, then hummed, face pressed against Roche’s shoulder and neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bad day?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth shrugged, not responding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know elves were like cats,” Boussy said, staring at Iorveth in fascination. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In that they have to get their way or in that they stick their butt wherever they want?” Roche asked. Boussy’s thought process worked very differently from his, and it was always interesting to hear how he reasoned out a situation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“His spine moves differently than mine,” Boussy shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In point of fact, elven skeletons </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> different from human ones. Logically, Roche knew this lead to slightly different movement, but he usually forgot about it unless Iorveth did something particularly strange.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It does,” Roche nodded. “Do you want to know why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Anais piped up, but Boussy nodded eagerly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche prodded Iorveth lightly. “You wanna explain or you want me to?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A grunt was his answer. Today must have been difficult, if Iorveth was wholly nonverbal. He wrapped his arm around Iorveth’s waist, pulling the elf closer, and began to stroke through Iorveth’s hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have your lessons covered basic anatomy, yet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Anais said dramatically, throwing herself back on the rug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… think?” Boussy ventured.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so humans and elves are different species. This means that we have different anatomies – the way we look on the inside and the outside. You know that elves have pointed ears, but they </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a number of internal differences. Their bones are different from ours, but our overall skeleton is pretty similar, except for the ribcage. Do you know where your ribcage is?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Boussy smacked his chest excitedly and Anais poked him in the ribs with her foot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Biting back a laugh, Roche nodded. “That’s right. Humans have 12 sets of ribs to protect our organs, but elves have sixteen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… it’s longer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup. But it’s also designed a little differently, which is why Iorveth moves a little differently. Because otherwise, elves wouldn’t be able to twist as much as they do. Does that make sense?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Boussy frowned, processing his words, then the boy nodded. “What about dwarves? Are they different?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anais perked up. Unlike her brother, who was interested in all things elven, Anais had taken their residence in Vergen as an excuse to go as dwarven as a little human child could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hated to disappoint her. “You know, I don’t actually know. But I bet your teachers would be delighted if you asked them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anais made a face again. She mostly liked school, but she didn’t like that she liked it, so for the past year, she’d taken to reacting more and more dramatically despondent when the topic came up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried not to laugh. “Do you want to continue reading or do you want to do something else? I’m gonna be here for a while,” Roche said, indicating his new status as an armchair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Boussy bit his lip, then leaned over and whispered something to Anais, who nodded readily. They shared a mischievous smile, which immediately set Roche on guard, and then the two of them launched themselves at him, shouting, “group hug!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groaned under the additional weight, shifting to help keep everyone from falling off the chair. Iorveth shook against him, and for a moment he was worried they’d upset the elf, but then soft giggles emerged and Iorveth pulled back enough to smile softly at the kids. He opened his arm to let Boussy wiggle closer, which meant that Anais absolutely had to get closer to Roche, but eventually, they were all more or less settled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So we’re just staying like this for a while, huh?” Roche asked, not really minding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” three voices chorused, and he couldn’t help stretching out his neck until he could press a kiss to each of their foreheads.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you're curious more about elven biology, I made a post about it <a href="https://bard-llama.tumblr.com/post/642607511882596353/elven-biology">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roche does something stupid and gets his hands all cut up. Fortunately, Iorveth is there to make it all better.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You idiot,” Iorveth scolded him, kneeling next to his chair and carefully applying iodine to his bloodied hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In my defense,” Roche felt the need to say, “I didn’t know that would happen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth sent him an incredulous look. “You didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that combining saltpeter and calcium equum would result in an explosive???”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Roche said, avoiding Iorveth’s eye. “I didn’t know it was saltpeter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Idiot,” Iorveth shook his head, “you are a complete and utter idiot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Roche wanted to be repentant, he really did, but he couldn’t help but notice that Iorveth was still holding his hands, even though the elf had stopped tending to them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Iorveth squeezed his hands. “I just… you scared me. All I heard was your yell, and then the explosion, and…” Iorveth swallowed, trailing off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche freed his hands, and Iorveth let go easily, curling in on himself. But that only made it easier to pull him into Roche’s lap and hug him properly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Roche murmured in Iorveth’s ear. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I was reckless. I’ll try to be more careful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth wrapped his arms around Roche, clinging closer. “You’d better,” he whispered, burying his face in Roche’s neck.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Geralt/Yaevinn for Morwen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt talks to Iorveth about the last Scoia'tael leader he knew.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I admit, I'm a little scared to write Yaevinn's character, so when I got this request, it ended up featuring Iorveth and Geralt more than Geralt and Yaevinn. Sorry about that, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Geralt brought Yaevinn up with Iorveth, he wasn’t sure what he expected, but Iorveth’s answer was not it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I knew him,” Iorveth nodded. “He had beautiful dreams and desperately wanted me to share them. He asked the same of you, I heard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt blinked at the elf. “Uh… Yaevinn is still alive, last I heard?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Iorveth actually looked surprised. “He wasn’t at the last Scoia’tael meet up, so I assumed. That’s good to hear, though. He’s fun to smoke with.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt frowned. “We’re talking about the same Yaevinn, right? I mean, he speaks in prose almost as much as Dandelion does, but… beautiful dreams? He’s pretty cynical for that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now Iorveth blinked at him. “Every time I’ve met him, he goes on long monologues about the future of elves and defeating humanity, and the beauty of nature.” Then Iorveth tapped his lip. “Though, come to think of it, I’ve only actually met Yaevinn when high. Maybe he loses the cynicism?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you?” Geralt asked, genuinely curious. What was it about these different Scoia’tael leaders that called to him? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth thought for a long moment. “Maybe? I tend to debate people a lot. And win, obviously. A proper academic debate, mind you, not the nonsense humans call ‘debating’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh. I suppose you wouldn’t know if Yaevinn is still set up somewhere around Vizima? I’d like to find him again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth shook his head regretfully. “Last I heard of him was during the uprising in Vizima, and I understand you were there for that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Geralt nodded. “I owe him a favour or two.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Humming, Iorveth turned to look up at the mountain city they were standing outside of. “Perhaps when this is all over, he will come here. If the Pontar Valley can be a truly free land for elves…”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>Iorveth’s voice faded, and from the look on his face, Geralt assumed he was thinking about Saskia and how amazing she was again. Which, she definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> impressive, but Geralt rather wanted to talk about his old friend. Not because he had a crush on Yaevinn, mind you. He just… owed Yaevinn a favour. That was all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Prompt: Regis/Geralt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Geralt asks Regis to choose: Dettlaff or him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We need some more soft Regis content. This... is not that. This is just pain. Sorry?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I don’t want to put you on the spot,” Geralt said, stress lining his face and making it look gaunt, “but I need to know – if it comes down to things…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>Who will you side with?</span></em> <em><span>Who will you abandon?</span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Regis swallowed hard, wondering if he could truly decide between these two men, both so important to him. Dettlaff, his brethren, his savior, his friend. Or Geralt, his witcher, his companion, his dear friend. Either choice would break him, cleave his heart in two, never to be repaired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Dettlaff were the one asking, would he answer the same? Was it easy to choose Geralt because the witcher was in front of him now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He licked dry lips, forcing the words out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it comes down to things… I will help you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words were quiet and hoarse, but Geralt’s senses would have no trouble picking it up. But would he understand it? Would he understand what it meant, for Regis to choose him? If he did, would it change anything?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of Regis wanted it to. He was losing his brother, his brethren. At the least, he should get something out of it, shouldn’t he?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But loving Geralt had never worked that way. Geralt was so very scared of unconditional love, sipping from Regis’s offering a little bit at a time. One day, Regis hoped that Geralt would be sure enough in himself and his value for more, but for now…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For now, Regis pledged his breaking heart to Geralt, knowing that this path could mean Dettlaff’s blood on his hands.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Roche/Dandelion not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roche does not do crowds.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For Queenie &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“There is no way I’m walking through there,” Roche gestured at the absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>packed</span>
  </em>
  <span> market square. “Do you know how easy it would be to knife someone and get away with this kind of cover!? Hell no.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dandelion tilted his head. “I… suppose that’s true. But you realize where we need to be is on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> side of the market?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can go around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...that adds an extra hour of travel time,” Dandelion pursed his lips, hands on his hips. “C’mon, it’s just one little crowd. Surely the Commander of the Blue Stripes is up to that!?” He waggled his eyebrows for extra emphasis.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll</span>
  </em>
  <span> walk around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And get lost again? This city is a maze and your sense of direction, frankly, is worse than </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I’m 99% certain that he only finds his way back to the major cities on accident.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche blinked. “Uh. Okay. Then come with me. But I am not going through that crowd.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dandelion broke out his pout. “I don’t want to walk an extra hour just because you can’t do crowds!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then you come up with something!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did. It’s called ‘walking through the crowd.’ Here,” Dandelion chewed on his lip for a moment, then held out his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche stared at it blankly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You take it,” Dandelion said. “I’ll pull you through the crowd and you can stay on the lookout for knives. Okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roche was clearly conflicted, but Dandelion waited patiently (he finished one whole verse of his latest song in his head). Finally, Roche stepped forward and clasped Dandelion’s hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he grunted and Dandelion rewarded him with a beaming smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great! Let’s go!” Dandelion pulled Roche through the crowd as swiftly as he could and even though Roche clenched his fingers around Dandelion’s tightly, no one ended up knifed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were late for their meeting, though. But only by a little.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. linking hands together during sex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vernon tries to convince Iorveth to duck out and have sex. He is very successful.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Despite the summary, this chapter actually is sfw/T-rated.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was something about Vernon’s hands that had always attracted him. From the way they wrapped around the hilt of his zweihander to the way they gently stroked Anais’ hair, Vernon’s hands were a distillment of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If one watched closely, they told you everything you needed to know about Vernon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they drummed against the table rhythmically, Vernon was bored. When they tossed a dagger into the table and played with it, Vernon was in serious mode, thinking hard. When they waved through the air to accompany Vernon’s words, Vernon was excited, expounding on something he felt strongly about. When they ran down Vernon’s face roughly, Vernon was frustrated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when they reached out to cup Iorveth’s hips, Vernon was aroused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It just so happened, that was the state Iorveth preferred Vernon be in. because when Vernon was aroused, he did everything in his power to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>Iorveth</span>
  </em>
  <span> aroused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that it took much, not when Vernon was the one touching him. Not that he’d admit it. Obviously he had to maintain his dignity as a frustrating bastard, and if that meant making Vernon work a bit to convince him? Best of both worlds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words Vernon used to convince him changed, but Vernon’s hands were consistent. Every time, they’d cup his hips and pull him close enough to kiss. Then, as Vernon let his tongue do his convincing, those hands ran up Iorveth’s sides. Not hurriedly – Vernon’s touches </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt like they were rushed. Each one was intentional, each one had a purpose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Iorveth’s favorite was when their purpose was to enjoy him. One broad hand slid up his back like every muscle was worthy of attention and Iorveth let a soft sound escape him, wrapping his own hands around Vernon’s neck and shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Vernon had kissed him thoroughly, Vernon would pull back, just long enough to cup his face. Then Vernon would dart back in and kiss him deeply, softly. With hunger and heat, most certainly, but also just with gentle affection and appreciation. Vernon </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> appreciated a good kiss. Iorveth had never kissed a lover as much or as often as he did Vernon, but Vernon had thoroughly convinced him that kissing could be a delightful thing all on its own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then came Iorveth’s favorite part. Vernon would keep kissing him, but those broad hands would slide up over his ears and into his hair. He’d never managed to withhold his moan at that, but that was okay. Vernon deserved to know when he was doing well, and any time those hot fingers were on Iorveth’s ears, he was doing well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By this point, Iorveth’s fingers were always clutching Vernon’s clothes too tightly and he was sure Vernon knew that it meant that he’d been convinced. But Vernon never rushed that either, even when they were supposed to be quick about it. Vernon would keep kissing him, keep playing with his ears and combing through his hair and by the time Vernon backed him up into the nearest horizontal surface, Iorveth would have completely forgotten that the world existed around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once Iorveth was sitting on the edge, the sex could go anywhere. Sometimes Vernon would step back and taunt him with a slow strip tease. Other times, Vernon would climb into his lap and continue kissing him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And more often than not, Vernon dropped to the floor and crawled closer until he was in between Iorveth’s legs. It just so happened that that was Iorveth’s favorite location for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vernon Roche really was a god with his mouth and even on his brattiest days, Iorveth had never managed to resist that mouth. Not when it was going down on him and not when it was kissing him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> not when it started brushing ever so delicately over Iorveth’s skin as if he were something beautiful and precious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vernon,” he murmured, half-lidded eye focused on the man kissing up his sternum. His fingers were tangled in Vernon’s hair, but really it was more to hang on than to direct Vernon anywhere. When he was in this mood, Vernon couldn’t be forced to move anywhere, not even to kiss Iorveth properly. And he pouted and groused about it, but in truth, Iorveth adored the way Vernon would offer attention to every single part of him. Vernon was truly skilled at making him forget that he would never be beautiful again, and every time Iorveth realized it, he fell in love with Vernon all over again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because Vernon didn’t have to do that, didn’t have to shower every bit of Iorveth with affection. But somehow, miraculously, Vernon </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. And anyone who’d known Vernon for more than a minute knew that Vernon’s love language was touch. Receiving it, of course, but also just… giving it. Giving it to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Iorveth, </span>
  </em>
  <span>who could never be worthy of a happy life, but he thought maybe he was going to get one anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every single touch was Vernon showing his love, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sharing</span>
  </em>
  <span> his love.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>Which made it all the more impactful when Vernon linked their hands together, staring down at him as the pleasure in his belly exploded and he arched and came and all the while, Vernon’s hand remained warm and interlaced with his, their rings making a light </span>
  <em>
    <span>ting</span>
  </em>
  <span> as they were pressed together.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>